Circus of Madness
by hayhay1232
Summary: The 73rd Hunger Games seemed no different than any other games, but the aftermath would spark something that nobody in Panem could imagine, not even those involved. AU T for language


THUMP. The sound of my mother slamming another door echoed throughout our puny house. I fall out of bed with another thump and gave my mother a look as she passed by mine and my siblings bedroom. "Have you forgotten what day it is?" My mother seems even more pissed off than usual.

I look at the lovely dress in her hand, and back at her. Oh right, duh. Reaping day. The one day every year where the Capitol lined up every boy and girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen in District Nine to pick two unlucky children to go into an arena and fight to the death for the amusement of the Capitol. "Sorry," I say simply, my cheeks turning red.

"Just hurry up and put this on," My mother places the light pink and orange sundress on the bed. "We're running late and your brother and sister are difficult to deal with already."

I nod obediently. It's not her fault she's so stressed out. Even with my aunt, my uncle, and my grandparents, three children are a handful, and the reaping doesn't help at all. The dress is a normal length on a reasonably sized person, but with my long legs, it's almost like a shirt. My hair is in its usual messy waves down my back, and I put in into a loose bun with a few stray locks framing my face. What I would give to have a pair of shorts right about now. One stray bluster of wind and I could end up flashing the entirety of Panem. Wouldn't that be fun.

My entire family looks like they've been waiting on me. Monny is asleep in the window, her usual lazy and fluffy self. "Bye Monny!" My voice is a fake and sugary cheerful. Monny raises her head meekly and mrrows. "See you later, pretty kitty," Except, I'm not really sure if I will. I have a feeling in the pit of my stomach, the same feeling I get every year right before the reaping.

As we leave our small house, I nearly choke on the factory fumes. You would think living here my entire life would make me used to the stench, but I'm not. My family is silent as we walk to the square.

They should know better than to be silent around me. Whenever it's too quiet, my anxiety tends to go through the roof. It's a weird thing. My mind does odd things when left to it's own devices. I think my aunt can sense this as we come closer to the cattle pen, as I like to call it, because she tells me good luck and gives me a reassuring smile as I go off to line up with the other teenagers. I wince only slightly at the blood prick, then I find myself standing next to Brooke, who seems to be hiding her nervousness well. I know she's as terrified as I am.

"Hey Pyria!" She says lightly. She's sixteen too, but she only has her mother, so she's never had to take as much tessera as I have, and she doesn't have a huge chance of being reaped. "You look so pretty!" Brooke only stands to about my chest, so she has to look up at me.

"You do too!" I say brightly with a wide grin. Honestly, I think I would go insane if I didn't have Brooke there. It's not long before the reaping begins, and the mayor makes his horribly long speech about the origins of the Hunger Games and how we're all dogs of the Capitol. Well, not the dogs of the Capitol part, though it's implied. Then a woman with fluorescent yellow hair named Hyatia comes to the front of the stage where the two giant glass bowls with the slips of every teenager in District Nine sit. She goes for the girl's bowl first. Forty-five of the slips in the bowl are mine, and when the woman utters the phrase "May the odds be ever in your favor," in the most fake and sugary tone possible, I automatically know that the odds are not in mine.

"Brooke Abrams!"

No. No. No. Shit. Fucking shit. Everyone turns in our direction, and Brooke starts towards the stage. "I VOLUNTEER!" I shout.

"Don't you dare, you idiot," Brooke hisses in my ear, but I go up to the stage anyway.

Volunteers are rare in District Nine, not like in One, Two, and Four where they almost always have volunteers wanting fame and glory. In the outer districts, being reaped is like a death sentence. Nine hasn't had a volunteer in almost two decades. Everyone always thought I was weird. Guess this cements it. I can see my mother crying nearby, but I keep my expression as emotionless as possible. Of course, I didn't volunteer because I thought I could win. I volunteered so I wouldn't have to see Brooke in the arena, even though she would actually have a chance at winning, I can't lose another friend to the games.

Hyatia pulls out a slip from the guy's bowl. "Len Ichimaru!"

God damnit. I see the black haired boy come up to the stage, a look of pure dread on his face. Len and I have been friends since we were little. I hope he at least dies early on so we don't have to face each other. He comes up to the stage, and gives me the look. I can read it immediately, the look of dread and fear that nobody else can read but me. This isn't right. Neither of us should be on this stage. We should be in school, with Brooke throwing her shoes at Len's head and him calling her a slimy whore. We shake hands, and then peacekeepers force us into the Justice Building.

We're put into separate rooms, and I recognize this room from when I came to visit Nick right before he was put into the games a couple of years ago. He was my boyfriend, and he swore that he would come back to me.

He was only fourteen. '

He made it to the top eight, and we all thought that District Nine was going to have a victor. Unfortunately, he was killed by the chick from seven, Johanna Mason. I instinctively rub the velvet on the chair next to me. It's soft. The door opens, and a peacekeeper gruffly tells whoever is coming in that they have five minutes.


End file.
